


Eyes Closed

by BeCreative



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cutesy fluff, Fluff, I-love-the-way-Bucky-and-Steve-interact fluff, seriously just a cute little scene from my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeCreative/pseuds/BeCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, and Bucky’s eyes are still closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Closed

**Author's Note:**

> This was on my mind, itching to be written, hope you all enjoy it! :)  
> I know it's a bit short, but I have a few other stories about these guys I'm working on getting up soon, so hopefully this will be good enough for now!

Steve is still awake when Bucky comes back from the mission. He looks up as the lock slides back with a quiet _thunk_ , and the door glides open.

“Christ.” He says, startled. “You’re way early.”

James Buchanan Barnes stumbles into the room, either dead exhausted or absolutely wasted, and it’s nearly impossible to tell. His stuff is dumped unceremoniously onto the kitchen table before he takes another step—and take another step he does—barely managing to make a straight line.

His hair is thick and ropy, matted with blood, grease, and sweat, and his face is stained with a mixture of what looks like black tar and something the color of gravy. his clothes are stained and torn, and two of his fingers are taped together in a makeshift splint, something Steve makes a mental note to take care of later.

It has clearly been the brutal mixture of a rough mission and a long day, something every agent in S.H.I.E.L.D has had the displeasure of being familiar with.

Steve has already silently risen from his chair, gesturing for the other man to take it, but Bucky only makes it to right in front of Steve, where he stops, swaying slightly on his feet.

Bucky is close enough for Steve to make a few observations, such as the lack of the smell of alcohol on Bucky’s breath, and Steve is openly relieved. A drunk Bucky was never a good sign. A drunk Bucky usually meant something had gone wrong, or that the mission had been particularly gruesome.

But since he doesn’t know what to expect, Steve can’t help but feel a little apprehensive. Even if there wasn’t any severe drinking involved, it doesn’t mean that the mission hadn’t triggered some particularly painful memories. Even if the intensive therapy and de-programming had fixed the paralyzing flashbacks, the memories were still there, and missions that too closely resembled places or situations from the Winter Soldier’s past could often send Bucky into days of silence and occasional anger.

Steve still had a dent in his wall from where Bucky had hurled a mug, two days after returning home from a mission, about six months back.

Steve was still pissed about losing that mug. It was his favorite.

But since Bucky had returned to the land of the cheerful and sarcastic a few hours later, Steve decided that losing his mug had been worth it.

And now he stands, silently, waiting for some indication as to what kind of Bucky had returned home today. He can’t help the tension that begins to steal into his feet and fingers, unconsciously preparing to block any blind swings that might come his way, wondering how he could subdue Bucky (if it really came down to it) without hurting him.

Bucky’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is slightly open, panting, catching his breath. His balance swings slightly, and he sways again as he reaches up his right hand—his real hand—and clutches the back of Steve’s neck, drawing his head closer until the two touch, and then stays there.

Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, and Bucky’s eyes are still closed. The tension leaves Steve like hot air as he relaxes, and he almost feels foolish for worrying.  
So this was what kind of Bucky had returned home today.

It just so happened that occasionally Bucky would walk through the door—bone tired, sometimes drenched, sometimes muddy—craving contact, craving something solid that he could silently brace himself against.

No words, no sweet murmurs or phrases of comfort. It was an unspoken rule.

Sometimes it would be something simple, like the grasping of a hand or a finger, and they would sit like that for hours, long after their plates had been cleared of food.

The most unanticipated one had happened a few months ago. Steve had been sitting on the couch watching a TV program that he didn’t understand a single speck or situation of, when Bucky had appeared, wraithlike—his hair still damp and fresh-smelling from his shower. Bucky had quietly curled himself up on the sofa, and delicately placed his head in Steve’s lap, his back facing the TV, his face facing Steve’s torso.

Bucky's breathing had been slow but steady, and his eyes had been peacefully shut, although his eyes were flicking back and forth beneath the closed lids, observing things Steve would never see.

It was so uncharacteristically _not Bucky_ , that Steve hadn’t dared move an inch.

Bucky had gone nearly as soon as he had come, vanishing a few minutes later back into his room, without a single word exchanged between them.

That's the way it always goes.  It happens, and they don't usually talk about it again.  Steve honestly wouldn't care either way, but in a small way he understands.  He understands Bucky and the way he thinks, and so he understands that Bucky doesn't want to acknowledge what he considers a weakness after the fact.

Truth be told, Steve doesn't consider it a weakness, but he knows Bucky would probably sock him pretty good in the arm for saying something as sappy as that, so he keeps it to himself.

And so now Steve still doesn’t dare move an inch, because in a small, selfish way, he longs for this Bucky that sometimes came home. He aches for these small and compassionate gestures, so different from the bruising and hair-raising (and thoroughly mind-blowing) sex, and the easygoing and loving everyday interactions.

He loves this quiet _needing_ and so he stands quietly, slowly placing his hands on the other man’s hips, drawing him closer by an almost imperceptible amount.

Forehead to forehead,

Nose to nose,

And Bucky’s eyes are still closed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work as an author on here, so I hope you guys liked it, feel free to give me some constructive criticism below!  
> Hope yall are having a good day!  
> -BeCreative


End file.
